Our Filters and Biases

My earliest memory is of an old house and garden and a horrible face which scared me no end. In later years I was told that it related to my grandfathers house and someone scaring me with a mask. I was all of 2 and half years old, yet the memory lingers more than half a century later. It obviously is lodged somewhere deep and must have had some deleterious effect on my life.

Our filters based on events, shape our mind and our lives. This is so important; just imagine a psychotic becoming President of the US or China. In this blog, I recall few events which effected me and created some of my biases and filters.

Around the age of six, the only good chocbar in the city, was at the airport. Once a month my father would drive me down there. On this particular day, I was sitting sampling my choc, when a couple of yards away, a bedraggled kid, (maybe same age) stood up and stared at me. The look has remained with me these decades. It caused guilt of course, but it changed my thinking. I have forever leant left of centre and put it down to that stare and those few seconds. For me every human has rights to the same thing which I get and it is a travesty that I get to live comfortably, while many cannot put food on their table. Inequality is anathema and in a utopian world would not exist.

Some years later, an employee of my father made an error and was to be told off. In expectation of this I waited around, but my father sent me off, much to my disappointment. Later, my father reprimanded me for hanging around and said each person has their self respect, never take that away from them. Tell people off in private. It struck home and I have tried to keep peoples self esteem intact. There have been failures, but generally over an error prone life, I have managed to maintain that discipline.      

When I resigned from Pepsi and came back to Karachi, I rang up Avis asking them for a car rental. They flatly refused, as I was now a private individual, while in the past, they were giving me cars as CEO of Pepsi. It was a sharp lesson learned, about this world. Indeed, in this last decade since that event, I have not been surprised by human behaviour again. I hasten to add that there are colleagues, friends and relatives who have not been affected by the ups and downs of my career and those are of course real friends.

One of the big influencers are bosses. In life one will meet positive and negative people. Positive bosses will never stop you doing good work. While negative generally are restrictive and cramp ones abilities. The boss who has had the most influence on my life, treated me like a younger brother and taught me a lot about human management. Today most of my style of team building and close association with colleagues comes from him. It is now so in built in my personality, that I doubt if I could manage in a distant and unemotional style.

The most important of lessons I have learned is about our ego, the worst of destroyers. Its so not required in life and yet almost all our problems stem from this. Ego degrades a human, leads to delusion about oneself, makes one treat people badly and leads to sub optimal decisions. One striking event I would like to relate.

A certain very senior bureaucrat, after retirement was on a plane trip and I saw him seated in the Economy class. He was obviously uncomfortable and tried to be as unnoticeable as possible. This was confirmed when the plane landed. It was in the pre-landing tube days. He sneaked off quietly and made his exit through the Business Class, his whole movement surreptitious and scared. Scared of what? scared that someone formerly of minister level, in his retirement days would fly economy class and be seen by others. Obviously well below his self esteem. Extremely tragic and I remember feeling distraught about this for days on end.    

There are so many lessons learned in life. Every individual gathers these experiences and ends up a unique personality. All shaped by these filters and biases.

The Sounds of the Night

I can hear the coughing; deep, guttural and repetitive. It pierces the night and crashes against the eardrums. It comes out of the quiet of the night and reminds me that there is life in the neighbourhood even at this late hour and that I am not alone in this world.

Just a few hours ago, the sounds of the mehndi jar against my thoughts. Choreographed, loud, and ostentatious. And then suddenly this stillness and quiet. The sounds of the night, within the same night, yet so glaringly different. One, all about the harsh realities of this world, the other real and human.

Now, in this stillness, I sit quiet, all to myself and claim my thoughts. All to myself. Mine and no one to share with, no one to intrude and no one to take it away. A dive into my own self, deep, and indulgent. I can now converse within and sort out the equations this life throws at us everyday. That is what life is, new equations to solve everyday.

Its been like any other day. Hard, busy and insistent. Breakfast meeting with an old colleague, not nostalgic at all..just about facts of how we have moved on in life, into different areas and how the ensuing years have widened a closeness of thoughts and goals. This is what distance and the search for sustenance does to us. Takes away warmth and replaces it with common interests.

Later a transaction to be resolved. Nothing warm about that either. Cups of tea and discussions, ending in a final agreement..all encapsulated in a couple of signatures on a paper and witnesses. At least the day was interspersed by a choice lunch. Regularly, some melancholy wistful thoughts would pop up, about people one would have liked to meet, but they were not there sadly.

And so came the night and a late start to a mehndi. Young people, dancing to filmi tunes, all choreographed. It leaves the taste of the artificial, grasping and unnecessary. The burger misses, who danced to the tune of Indian songs, wearing flashy revealing clothes. Lots of oohs and aahs, cooing and pecking on the cheeks. It came as a relief to be able to withdraw to ones sanctuary and home. Alone to oneself, able to look back and analyse all that is happening. This quiet, it nurtures thoughts, memories and wistful wishes. Is alone the only form whence we can be at peace? Are we not better at connecting our souls to other humans -man has ever been born a community animal. Are there no souls who are a total fit together...and therefore are we really born in loneliness? One awaits those souls one can intertwine with...that is probably one of the reasons of life's being, to search and find and connect.

As this night will recede, so will I slowly go back to being what I am in this world. A commercial human, grabbing his space in this place. No sanctuaries then. Just raw living. So therefore, a blessing from Allah these quiet hours to lick ones wounds and repair oneself, in anticipation of the next day, when the sounds of the night will recede and we will face the world once again, renewed and rejuvenated to counter its daily equations.

These Conferences!

One day, a friend called and suggested I should attend this brilliant conference, which was dealing with some very important issues.  It sounded as if it was the best thing since sliced bread and useful too.

So I enquired, “why is it useful?”
“There are so many important people attending this event.”
“I do not want to meet these important people!”
“That’s your problem. You will never get anywhere without networking. Ok, then at least have the goodness to do your duty.”
“My duty?” Astonishment in look and tone. :o
“Yes, you have been lucky to accumulate experience. It is incumbent upon you, that it is passed on to those who are still learning and need a helping hand.”

That was it! This is the moment when suckers are born. Sigh! I ended up saying “yes”.
Next thing I know, Mr X calls. Reluctantly, I listened to a gush of enthused statements, about a topic I was not interested in. AND agreed to speak at it and made all the right noises. After all, I owed society!

Skechy details notwithstanding, I arrived at the conference. It was all suited, booted individuals, alongwith volunteers from the local universities. Some of these faces seemed familiar, or maybe faces like them. It was dejavu! I had been here before. Luckily, a few attendees were people one personally knew. Throw in a couple of old colleagues and bosses, and I did not feel totally out of place.

The conference commencement was inevitably delayed and the technology also failed at crucial moments; so it was not clear sailing. In came our competitors CEO. Now, I really could not walk away from this event. They were even one of the many sponsors of the event. I definitely felt quite a bit better, at this stage. The competitor CEO made the key note speech. All I could do was smile, as he was saying similar words to what I might have said. They had actually paid money to convey their inane message. When I looked around it felt even better. Almost everyone in the audience was already glassy eyed and the clapping was slow and low intensity. It had not gone past 10.30 and they had lost the audience. Then a grand lady took the stage and gave a  speech. Soon she was complaining that her own voice feed, via the mic,  was interfering with her delivery. The whole thing was really quite entertaining in its buffoonery and lack of quality.

Finally, I did get my hour in the sun on the stage, to add my own two bits to this cocktail. Nothing special to add. I am fascinated that for such simple words and ideas, people have paid a conference fees or companies have provided sponsorship. My part came to an end. Phew! Great relief. I slipped out quietly, but alas was accosted by the event manager. He wanted to know whether I enjoyed the day. Gosh! I glared at him and slipped out. What a wasted day.

That this has happened to me a dozen times these past few years, is the sad truth. My own weakness and fault. These conferences are frequented by people, who wish to pass on their experience, which only makes sense within the context of their circumstances. Its impossible to convey the importance of such actions in meaningful words, when there is no connect to the context of those actions. So we get an endless stream of conferences, where audiences listen to what must be French, get bored, and time is wasted.

My resolution once more. Never to waste my time at these places. Till the next time when I am unable to say no.

Bhai Babu

An early morning rise. It was Christmas Day for some; Midnight Mass and early morning services too. For others it was the Quaids birthday. Whatever, it was a National holiday. It allowed one to indulge oneself mid-week , notwithstanding the approaching year end work at the office.

My son was visiting from university and so it was a good time to bond a bit. Once young people are out of the door and have gone to university, they never rightly comeback. So it was good to see him walking around the house early morning. On impulse, I inquired if he wanted to go out for a desi breakfast. And since he too has a sense of the out of the ordinary, so the answer was 'yes'.

Off we went, my first thought was 'lets go down to Burns Road (Bunz Rd) for nihari and some rabri'. But sitting in the car we decided to go for halwa puri, as nihari would slow us down for the rest of the day. It boiled down to where to go. Coming out of my old memories, the word Riaz Masjid popped into my mind. My childhood haunt, Tariq Road and the adjacent old Delhi walas society.

Memory is a strange phenomenon. It makes things larger than life. Riaz Masjid, where I had nihari and kebab through the years at Abdul Ghaffar. And where Bhai Babu served his worlds best gulab jamun. They are gulab jamuns to die for. Warm and they melt in the mouth, so syrupy soft they are. Riaz Masjid does not aspire to cleanliness, but it gives the same authentic old Karachi taste and feel. You can migrate back 50 years, to feel and touch a part of the brain locked away forever. This same Bhai Babu has great halwa puri and chana and aaloo saalan. It all made sense, providence desired that I take a trip down memory lane and so, we would go down to Riaz Masjid for breakfast at 6 30 am.

As we drove along, my memory recalled that adjacent to my destination was Sir Syed Rd, PECHS and that I spent my whole childhood till late teens there. It would be good to show my son a type of Karachi, he or youth like him have never seen. A city which had a lot of charm, was friendly, peaceful and had a character of its own. I still see the stamp of the old Karachi, in the individual Karachite. But alas, the individual has been swamped by a wider social cussedness which prevails today.

If you drive early morning in Karachi, it is totally still and quiet. Hardly any traffic. Its strange in a city which has millions of transport vehicles on the road for 18 hours, to go deathly quiet for 4 hours. It reminds one of Wordsworth's Composed On Westminster Bridge. Anyway, a drive which normally would take 40 minutes was over in about 15.

At Bhai Babu, early in morning, there is not much choice. The halwa, with fat pouring out of it, the two saalans and then the puris. The puris were like magic. Soft and fairly dry, which was extremely unusual. There were also what were called 'khasta puris', which are like no other I have eaten. Not made out of regular super refined flour (maaida), but rather out of wholewheat. These are totally different in taste and texture.

So what was the trip about then? The difference was in the old school feel. The culture harks back to the days of yore. The courtesy and language is Delhi of old and has never left the 19th century. Bhai Babu himself was reading an Urdu newspaper. He deigned to ask me a couple of questions on events, probably because he saw someone who was clearly from beyond the local community. My son, back from his university, having seen mainly one tone Karachi, was open eyed. He saw little bits of reality, which hopefully shall teach him about this country of his. Maybe, create that small spot of belonging, to a country and city, which we have all used and abused extensively, and given back little. Driving back home he was less talkative and more introspective. Even his questions seemed to leave the taste of belonging, which cannot be produced coming out of plush, swank dining places, which charge a fortune. Maybe a trip worth taking on a holiday morning, when a warm bed had beckoned. Left me with some happiness and optimism for the rest of the day.

I would recommend a trip to Bhai Babu to all of you, on a holiday morning.

*picture from pakistanifoodspoint.blogspot.com

The EFL 10 year Montage

The Engro Foods culture records our history in montages, which reduces the need for words, gives you small touch points and is easy to view in later years. With our ten years celebrations, from the day of incorporation - not operations, which started a year later- underway, I thought to create a montage of my memories. This has then gone out in our quarterly internal magazine, Between Us.

My memory stretches back to October 17th, 2005 and some twenty-five people huddled together to set the first vision of EFL, which was about doing it the right way, about opening up rural areas, about Pakistaniat and showing the world we can succeed.

A few months later, a hole in the ground in Sukkur transformed into a dairy factory and milk collection tankers poured in ample milk, much against peoples expectations. Flashbacks of laughing teams sitting around at 3 am at the PNSC office, eating pizza, just before the Olpers launch, are warm memories. Some months later I can remember our celebrations when we hit 150,000 liters a day. Then we launched Tarang. Immediately, we knew this was a success. The Tarang moment! The purple patch moment, which hits one maybe once or twice in your career.

There were those shuddering days in August 2007, when our office burned down and there was an existential threat for a few weeks to a very new organisation. We survived and the threat passed. Three weeks later we had makeshift offices, systems restored and most items back in order by the end of the year.

From then on, life has been one long roll with flash points every now and then. Our launch of ice cream and opening of our farm were tough risky calls in 2009. We have managed them Mashallah. There were tough moments, but both businesses thrive.

2010 brought the awful floods and the EFL teams gave three months of their lives to help the affected in rural areas. It is this Sadqa-e-Jaaria which propelled us to leadership of the liquid dairy industry months later. Just some four and half years after commencement of operations, EFL became leader and it has not been relinquished todate.

The ensuing years have brought ups and downs, but have also rewarded us with the two biggest International Awards in Pakistan's corporate history. First, the G20 World Top 15 Company Award in 2012, and then the Transformational Company of the World Award from IFC/FT in 2014.

Most, I want to remember the people. One and all who gave their lives, sweat and effort to take this company to where it is today. A phenomenal achievement by a bunch of dedicated, committed and passionate men and women. I have a lot to thank them for. EFL has a lot to thank them for.

In parting, I shall re-quote my last sentence from the speech of Olper's launch March 2006, to our people.

"When you become old and look back, you will tell your grandchildren, this was the finest thing I did in life and these were my finest hours". In-sha-Allah.

Namal University - reaching for humanity

As they showed a video about Namal University, a student asked "do I not have a right to proper education, so what that I was not born with any money". That is the crux of the matter. In a land made for righteousness, we have ninety plus percent people, who can only watch from the outside, while others less deserving waste an opportunity for learning.

Imran Khan came on today at a small brunch and told us his story of Namal University. It was good that he could give thought, time and effort to such a venture, while a major by-election in NA 246 was in the offing. He said, putting Pakistan right is my mission, but my passion is to help get the Namal project going, so people can acquire education. A parallel with Oxford and Cambridge was drawn, where two great universities over centuries set the grounds for the British Empire. This is inspiration indeed. To reach for the stars, while we are down on the floor all broken.

Two things Imran pointed out in his short speech, which are worth extrapolating on.

In 2002 as Imran was driving in this Mianwalli region, his car broke down. He spent the whole night there and the local people came to tell him that they were poor and could not afford a university. There were none in this region for a hundred kilometers. Imran felt an intense call to help. Something like he had in the years when the Shaukat Khanum Hospital was formed. But his vision went beyond this region to a much larger view. This university will be a great one, which will educate the poor of Pakistan. Should they not have equal rights to those with a silver spoon, who could educate themselves much more easily? He thought of the likes of Oxford and Cambridge as comparison. Why not something like this in the eons ahead. As Imran mentioned, man is Ashraful Maqlooqaat. Where mans mind reaches, Allah has given him the wherewithal to reach that. Unfortunately, the sane and wise ones will always bring sanity and achieve status quo. But we need to dream big and believe. When you do so you will always win. You only lose when you think you have lost (Philosophy which has also served me best in my life).

The second point was as telling. He said that in sixty seven years history of Aitchison College, they have produced just one test cricketer. Despite the best class facilities and comfort and resources. But on the streets of Lahore and Karachi, playing tape ball we have produced plenty of world class cricketers. This is the same story as the footballers of Brazil and Italy. Poverty produces a will, focus and drive as no other. The same applies in education. The Namal scholars, living a hard life, have climbed a peak. Their degree results in the first three graduating class, which is on the standard of the UK universities is producing astounding results. These young people are committed and have their heart in Pakistan. They will be an asset for this country. They can be our future.

Namal University has already arrived. In three years 134 students (mainly from poor families) have graduated and are already working in our country. It is reaching for humanity. To do this, it needs to expand for the good of this country. This is not about politics, this is about Pakistan. In my capacity as a Pakistani, I testify that I have been involved with Imran Khan's projects for over two decades. I have always found him honest and dedicated to the bone. Whatever your views about his politics, this is about all of us. Please get on the Namal University site and help if you can. Every little bit will assist and bring that visionary future nearer to us.

The Pantomime

So there is this lady on stage and there is a quite a bit of her. Most of it is showing. She is dressed in black and her smile never goes away. Around her are twenty young men and they are all gawking at her. The men are dressed in white. The lady stands out, as it is supposed to be.  She epitomises Venus and suddenly she starts cavorting. The twenty flunkies around her cavort back at her. In the background, garish music plays

Suddenly, as the music changes tone, the lady becomes still, the flunkies collapse to the floor, and out leap two break dancers, who somersault (or whatever they call this stuff), and have their thirty seconds in the lights. They are dressed in bright green, to differentiate them. The music changes again, the break dancers bound off and the dead flunkies come to life. The thirty second break has done them some good. They now make a determined push to grab the lady in black. Soon the lady is lifted up by them and she contorts in their hands and her dress comes off, to reveal a still skimpier outfit. She smiles throughout and  the music becomes a crescendo. Then it comes to a grinding halt. The lady stretches out her arms in ballerina fashion and strikes a pose to convey acclaim.

Down in the audience, the act on the stage is not the real thing. The front row is packed with famous faces. Most of them are stuck in a Botoxed smile. Behind the smiles they are bored stiff and thinking “what the hell” or stronger sentiments. Another evening uselessly spent. They have spent most of their working lives just doing this and so it comes to them automatically. They are what you may call super stars; any price for stardom is worth it. One of them wears striped pyjama type trousers and wears a hat (like the Great Gatsby). But, this is inside premises and etiquette says otherwise. He bounds on to the stage a couple of times. It’s a desperate move for attention - his last movie has bombed at the box-office. Anything to be noticed. They are apparently icons of society, but in reality they are unstable, shallow humans, who have mastered the art of creating a facade. 

Why they think they are icons of society, is obvious by the reactions of the fifty odd rows behind them.  These are the so called lucky commoners. By hook or by crook these people have obtained entry to this event. Some have sold their soul to get here. Others have used influence and still others have simply bought it by paying exorbitant rates. They feel they have achieved nirvana. Tomorrow they shall boast of being there. Today, they gawk at the bigwigs, try to get close and touch them. Some dance and cavort in the aisles, as the stage-show goes on. Others are whistling, clapping and being altogether star struck. 

It’s a sight to see, especially as the ones in the front row smile, and look superior and condescending. They do realise that their lives depend on the gullible masses in the common rows, but they are so used to adulation, that they are convinced they are Gods gift to mankind and will succeed regardless. Its called ego and arrogance. The whole wasteful, repetitive decadent event goes on, as it has these last three decades. Somehow, the masses don't tire of this idiocy and the great unwashed laps it up one more evening. 

Time to shut the television off and do something more useful.